


Not My Boyfriend

by taradiane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taradiane/pseuds/taradiane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[From Netflix] This frank drama centers on the relationship between two gay men who contemplate turning a passionate one-night stand into something more meaningful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not My Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> This submission is part of HD Smoochfest on Livejournal. The theme this year is Media Remix, which invited participants to "remix" the story from a Book, Movie, or Television Show. The author/artist will be revealed at the end of the fest.
> 
> This was created for Prompt Number: M35  
> Original Work Name: Weekend (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1714210/ )
> 
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Notes: Oh my goodness, where to start. I first have to give a ginormous hug to blithelybonny for leaving the prompt, because without that, I would have never discovered this film. Because . . . this film. I can hardly tell you how much I love and adore it, and particularly the character of Russell (who is Harry's counterpart in the story). The prompts went up, the trailer for the film intrigued me, and I watched it that night. It's not often that a film can make my heart hurt the way that this one did, because like most LGBT films seem to do (whyyyyy), the ending will make you weep with frustration when the credits roll and things don't end as you wish they had and you're only left with the tattered shreds of your heart to show for it. I had to create another ending for this movie. I ended up downloading the song that plays in the closing credits and listened to it for days on end, literally nothing else, and thinking about this film. And Tom Cullen? You beautiful, beautiful man. Completely stole my heart. It is a rarity that I fall in love with a fictional character, but oh Russell…and Tom played him beautifully. His eyes, oh god his eyes . . . if I watched the trailer right now, my eyes would tear up just seeing his face.
> 
> Blithelybonny, as per your request, I simply followed the plot of the movie . . . with a few alterations and twists that I hope don't take away from your enjoyment (cautiously hopeful) of the story. I do not expect it to in any way live up to the wonderfulness that is the film. This was written and re-written in more ways than I can count, and finally I settled on doing something I'd not really done before in terms of style and POV. Even if you don't like the way I've told this story, I implore everyone who hasn't seen this film to seek it out. Just trust me. It will gut you, but in the most wonderful way.
> 
> Lastly, please note that the majority of the dialogue between Harry and Draco is lifted exactly from the movie (and there's not a ton of dialogue in this), and as this incarnation of the boys have not been ravaged by war, I think that Draco especially is entitled to be more of a . . . free spirit, as it were.

**July, Present Day**

  
The July sun is blazing over the pitch near the community centre in Kentish Town, London, where you're coaching a girls' football team.  They're playing dreadfully, but you're smiling anyway because they're having a good time, and God knows where they'd be otherwise if they didn't have today's match to occupy their time.  You remember being fourteen - how that was when you'd first started to learn how to get into the worst kind of trouble, nearly driving your social worker spare.  And those were the days before ASBOs.    
  
Hunniford is walking toward the ball preparing for her penalty kick, her sweaty brow furrowed as she swipes ginger fringe from her face, when you spot  _him_  in the distance.  You'd know that shade of blond anywhere, and you're momentarily stunned at the sight of him.  It's been just over a year since you had said goodbye to him that miserable June day at the train station, and while you're shocked that he's here, obviously watching  _you_  and not the game, a bright bloom of hope unfurls deep in your gut.    
  
You honestly never thought that you'd see him again.  You'd hoped, oh how you'd hoped, especially in the days immediately following his departure last year, but it was silly then to think that he would have ever given up his plans for you.  Not after just one weekend.  
  
And yet there he stands, separate from the groupings of the players' parents and siblings, his stance wide and arms crossed against a chest that you have very fond memories of indeed.  
  
As you watch Hunniford psych herself up for the kick, which you know she'll likely miss because she always overshoots the goal when she thinks too hard on it, your mind is no longer on the game where it should be, and instead stuck firmly on that weekend last June.

  
 **One Year Ago**

  
You had spent that Friday evening at Ron and Hermione's with several of your old classmates from Hogwarts and other mutual friends you'd both acquired over the years.  Ron and Hermione had been your best mates since you were eleven years old, when you'd been unexpectedly taken out of foster care and the local comprehensive, and situated in the boarding school in Scotland that your parents had arranged for when you were still in nappies.  It had been particularly daunting at the time, Hogwarts being housed in a castle the likes of which you'd never seen before or since, and knowing nary a soul.    
  
The majority of your classmates had smelled of old money and well-connected bloodlines, while you'd sat there with your unremarkable and unrecognizable surname and scuffed trainers.  But then Ron had approached you looking for an empty seat to take, and the relieved smile he'd given you when you'd eagerly gestured for him to sit had been the start of a lifelong friendship.  
  
Hermione had come along later, her swotty, book-obsessed personality having put off many of your yearmates (including yourself).  But then there'd been that first Halloween at Hogwarts, when you and Ron had been traipsing the grounds and surrounding woods, and found Hermione cornered by a particularly vicious Scottish wildcat.  It had just had a litter of kittens, and Hermione had accidently wandered into the mother's territory.  At the time, the cat seemed much bigger than it really was as it hissed and stamped forwards, spitting in Hermione's direction with its hackles raised and back arched in its mission to protect her babies.  You and Ron had been able to sufficiently distract the cat while Hermione moved to safer ground, the three of you soon sprinting back towards the castle, laughing and relieved.    
  
The three of you had been inseparable after that.  
  
And in most ways, you still were.  When you were fifteen, Ron's sister, Ginny, who was a year below, had fallen head over heels for you.  And while you briefly entertained the idea of dating her, the fact that she was Ron's sister had stopped those thoughts from going any further.  
  
Well, that and the fact that you'd been starting to wonder if you might be a bit bent.  
  
You didn't come out to your best mates until you'd been nearly seventeen and Oliver Wood, captain of the football team, had sucked you off in the equipment shed after a winning match against the Durmstrang School.  There had been no question, after that, and you'd blurted out ' _I'm pretty sure I'm gay_ ' later that night in the common room of your House dormitory as you'd sat in front of the fire talking about plans for the summer before your final year.  
  
Hermione had given you a knowing smile – she always knew things about you before even you did – but Ron took a little longer to warm to the new information.  It only bothered you a little bit that he was somewhat standoffish after that, but after a few weeks and the gentle confrontation in the showers ( _'For Christ's sake Ron, I don't care what your dick looks like – fucking wash up already'_ ), everything had gone back to normal.  
  
Fast forward several years, and you're twenty-six and still single, while Ron and Hermione had got married and had a kid, and were hoping for another soon.    
  
You'd begged off early from the party that Friday night, feeling restless and claustrophobic from Ginny's constant attention (despite her boyfriend having been at the party with her), and used work the next day as your excuse to leave.  It had been on the twenty minute walk home from their flat to yours that you'd passed by the small club – a former pub where the new owners had hastily thrown in a small dance floor in an attempt to draw in a younger crowd.  You supposed that the new owners hadn't reckoned on it soon becoming a local hangout for gay men, but it had.  So when, upon passing by, you'd remembered that there was no beer in your fridge, but the buzz you'd nursed at Ron and Hermione's had been very nice indeed.  You weren't keen to let it fade just then, and so you'd doubled back and gone inside.  
  
He'd been one of the first people you'd seen once you took your place at the bar intent on ordering a pint or three.  He'd been staring at you, his face blank but a definite interest sparking in his eyes.  While you'd had no plans to pull, you had expected him to approach . . . but instead he'd turned away and devoted his attention to others while you'd sat there drinking your beer and realising he was rather out of your league anyway.  
  
It wasn't until later that night, after you'd moved onto the single malt you favoured, that he had finally deigned to speak to you, saving you from a middle-aged man named Michael who'd offered to blow you in the gents.  
  
Teetering between pleasantly buzzed and outright drunk, you'd soon after found yourself at your flat with the beautiful blond, an artist named Draco, his tongue in your mouth and hand down your pants.  The sex had been fantastic, the best you'd had in ages, and while random casual encounters weren't typically your thing, you couldn't find it in yourself to regret this particular one while he'd reached for a second condom in first rays of morning light, sliding it on your cock and ready for another go.

  
 **> o<**

You'd made tea after you'd both awoken at half past ten Saturday morning, and things shifted from slightly awkward to slightly comfortable (and back again) as you went through the motions of the typical one-night-stand morning after.  Draco had teased you when, after leaning in for a kiss, he could smell your toothpaste and declared that  _'you've broken the unwritten rule, because now you smell all minty fresh while I still smell of cock and bum.'_  His frankness had startled you.  It had merely been a preview of what was to come, because Draco seemed to have no filter between brain and mouth.  
  
It wasn't until the voice recorder had been shoved under your nose that you'd hazily remembered what you'd agreed to the night before.  
  
 _'Right, you ready then?'_  
  
 _'For what?'_  
  
 _'You can't get out of it now – you promised me.'_  
  
 _'I thought you were joking!'_  
  
 _'Of course not, do you think I'd of slept with you otherwise?'_  
  
You'd swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat, certainly not expecting that response, and a sudden wave of insecurity and a hint of shame had coursed through you.  
  
 _'Well I'm not doing it.'_  
  
 _"Oh yes you are.'_  
  
 _'What kind of stuff is it that you want me to say?'_  
  
 _'Say anything you like. Just talk about last night.  What happened, what you wanted to happen . . . it's up to you, really.'_  
  
 _'Why?'_  
  
 _'Just because.'_  
  
 _'It's for an art project?  And you're just going to lie there and record me speaking?'_  
  
 _'Yeah.'_  
  
 _'And people are going to listen to it?'_  
  
 _'If you make the grade, yeah.'_  
  
He'd had to prompt you several times to stop stalling and say what you'd been thinking, and you'd hated every minute of it.  He'd wanted you to describe everything, in detail, from intrigued first sight to last shudder of orgasm.    
  
Finally you'd just given in and went with it, and you'd admitted things then, from the fact that you'd thought he would never go for you, to the sweet surprise you'd felt when he'd kissed your hand in the hallway outside your bedroom.  He'd asked you specific questions like  _'What about when I was playing with your arsehole?  Was it too rough?  Too soft?'_  and  _'Did you wish my cock was bigger?'_   You weren't used to those sorts of conversations.  You'd never talked about such things with your straight friends.  He'd told you that he had been  _'happy to feel you had a big dick, and it was throbbing in your trousers, which was surprising because you were so drunk.'_  
  
At one point during your recall of the night before, Draco had said that when he'd disappeared for a bit, it was because he had seen someone else he'd been trying to hook up with, but by the time he'd caught up with him, he'd already found someone else.  
  
 _'So I was your second choice?'_  
  
 _'What does that matter?'_ he'd answered, and looked at you like you were being ridiculous for even having asked.  
  
And it shouldn't have, but it did.  Of course you'd be his second choice, because you were out of his league and he could have had anyone he wanted, and probably usually did.  But it was that feeling you'd felt when he'd so casually told you that yes, you were second best to some other unknown bloke, second rate, that reminded you of why random one-offs weren't for you.  
  
You'd never had anyone talk to you the way that Draco had.  So . . . unafraid to say and ask exactly what was on his mind.  And he'd expected you to do the same, and you'd struggled with it  
  
Then he'd got you to admit that no, you didn't particularly liked to be fucked, though you hadn't told him the reason why at the time.    
  
When he'd asked you if being fucked would have  _'made you feel too gay'_  and asked  _'are you actually out?'_  you'd said yes and he'd responded with,  _'Are you sure about that?'_  
  
You hadn't known what to think then, but the veiled accusation bristled your already fraying nerves from having to answer his explicit questions.  You weren't ashamed of being gay, and who was he to imply otherwise?  He didn't know you.  His bluntness scared you a bit, because how could anyone stand being so bloody open all the time?  So exposed?  Had it only been for his project, or was Draco like that at every waking moment?    
  
You'd put your mouth close to the recorder then, and said _'I just thought that we were having a really nice time, and it was lovely.  It was more than enough for me, so I'm sorry, Draco, if I don't make your grade.'_  
  
Draco had turned the recorder off after that, and after an exchange of numbers at your front door (that seemed more a courtesy than anything else – you hadn't expected Draco to ever reach out to you now that he'd got what he wanted from you), he'd left.  As you'd watched him walk down your street, disappearing from view, you'd wondered if Draco had even liked you, or if he thought you were dull and boring.  Because he'd made you feel a bit like that, and even made you feel a bit used.  You'd said all those things and let him record them, and now perfect strangers might listen to it all . . .  
  
. . . might listen to your personal, explicit,  _'second choice'_  sexual experience with Draco, who'd only chosen you because the one he'd really wanted had already been chosen by someone else.

  
 **> o<**

  
You'd gone about your Saturday afternoon the same way you always had, cleaning up around your flat and getting ready for your shift at the community centre.  You'd stripped the bed, and as you'd carried your sex-stained sheets to the washing machine, you could still smell his cologne on your pillowcase.  Woodsy and earthy and fresh.  
  
At the centre, while in the lounge on break, you'd been thinking about Draco (same as you had all afternoon), wondering if you should text or call, because while some of the things he'd said had unsettled you, you couldn't get him off your mind.  He'd got under your skin, and not necessarily in a bad way.  You'd thought about his project with the recordings, and wondered how or if you'd fit into it.  If Draco would give it a listen days or weeks from now, along with all the others he'd apparently created, and toss yours out.    
  
As you'd been pondering, your mobile buzzed in your pocket and you'd unlocked it to see a text message from him.  A smile, unbidden, crossed your face, and the remainder of your shift hadn't seemed seem quite so dull after that.

  
 **> o<**

  
Draco had been waiting for you outside the centre and you'd walked the short distance back to your flat together.  You'd put the kettle on and fixed a sandwich, Draco having declined, and you'd broached the subject of his art project.  You'd felt less unsure of yourself around him now – after all, he'd contacted you, so there must be some level of genuine interest there after all.  
  
 _'How is your tape – art project – going to be an art project and not just people talking dirty?'_  
  
 _'You think talking about sex is dirty?'_  
  
 _'I'm just not sure if people want to hear about the random sex lives of strangers.'_  
  
 _'You just don't want people hearing about your sex life.'_  
  
You'd had no answer for that, because it wasn't untrue.  
  
 _'Imagine if everybody was just open about what they did and then everything was normal?'_  
  
 _'But people are open, aren't they?'_  
  
 _'Are they?'_ Draco had challenged you.  
  
 _'There's this guy at work today; I'm just sat there having my lunch, and he's talking about how many fingers he can put up a girl's fanny.'_  
  
 _'Was he gay?'_  
  
 _'No.'_  
  
 _'Well there you go.  Gay people never talk about it in public unless it's just cheap innuendo.  I think it's because they're ashamed.'_  
  
 _'Maybe it's just because they're a little embarrassed.'_  
  
 _'Isn't that the same thing?'_  
  
You hadn't known what to say, but you hadn't wanted to simply concede that he was right, either.  Some people, like yourself, were just private and didn't feel the need to flash it about.  You weren't ashamed or embarrassed, you were discreet.  Not even Ron knew much beyond the names of men you'd dated in the past, and you were perfectly fine with that.  You certainly didn't care to hear about Ron's sex life, so why would Ron care about who'd had the biggest cock or who gave the best head?  It wasn't who you were.  
 _'Well go on then, tell me about the project.  I'm interested.'_  
  
 _'You know what it's like when you first sleep with someone you don't know?  You become this blank canvas, and it gives you an opportunity to project onto that canvas who you want to be.  And that's what's interesting because everybody does it.'_  
  
 _'Do you think I did that?'_  
  
 _'Of course you did.  And what happens is, while you're projecting who you want to be, this gap opens up between who you want to be and who you really are, and in that gap, it shows you what's stopping you from becoming who you want to be.'_  
  
 _'And you get all this from talking about sex?'_  
  
 _'All that from talking about sex.'_  
  
You didn't know a lot of other gay people, and you'd wondered if many others felt the same as Draco.  You hadn't grown up in the sort of environment where it was necessarily okay to advertise such things.  It was a given that you'd had other classmates who were gay, some of whom you likely hadn't ever known were gay at the time, but with the circle of friends that you'd surrounded yourself with, you were the only one and none of what Draco seemed to care about had ever really been an issue.  
  
 _'So are you just going to play the recordings out loud, or . . .?'_  
  
 _'I don't know yet, but it won't matter because no one's going to come see it, because it's about gay sex.  See, the gays will come hoping to get a glimpse of a cock and leave disappointed, and the straights won't come because, well, it's got nothing to do with their world.  They'll go and see pictures of refugees or murder or rape, but gay sex?  No.'_  
  
 _'Fuck it.  It doesn't matter, does it?  I'd come.'_  
  
 _'No you wouldn't, Harry,'_  he'd laughed, and it had sent a delicious shiver down your spine to hear it and see him smile at you that way.

  
 **> o<**

  
You'd moved into the sitting room after that, curled up on opposite ends of the sofa while Draco told you about how he'd come out to his parents on Mother's Day when he was sixteen.    
  
 _'I said nature or nurture, it's your fault so get over it.'_  
  
You've always loved other people's stories about how they came out to their parents, probably because you never had one of your own, and so when Draco asked about them, you'd told him about your past.  
  
How your mother, Lily Potter, had died, along with your father, James, in a car crash when you were just a year old.  How their lives had been snuffed out by a police car that had sped through a stop sign while in pursuit of a man named Tom Riddle, who was on the run after having killed his entire family.  Your parents estate, along with a sizeable payout from the government for the fatal accident, had allowed you to live comfortably once you'd finished your schooling, but your early years had been spent in foster homes after your only living relatives – your mother's sister and her husband – were deemed unfit.  You'd lived with them and their only son, Dudley, until age five when a neighbor had reported them.  Arabella Figg, who you only remembered as the crazy cat lady across the street, had apparently witnessed Uncle Vernon getting rough with you one time too many, and called the police.  
  
What you hadn't expected was Draco's reaction to it all.  
  
 _'Is it wrong that I find the whole orphan thing pretty sexy?'_  
  
 _"Oh my God, what's wrong with you?_ ' you'd asked, but then you'd both started to laugh, joking about Oliver Twist, and suddenly Draco had moved toward you, straddling your thighs and cupping your face in his hands.  
  
The realisation that Draco wanted you – again – had been intoxicating.  Nearly as intoxicating as the rushed but satisfying handjob that had followed.  You'd wanked each other off, right there on your sofa in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, and it had been surprisingly sweet, especially when Draco had fetched a wet flannel afterward and gently wiped your stomach.  
  
Draco had proven thus far to be a puzzle that you couldn't quite figure out.  He had been in equal turns brash and even a wee bit cruel in his pronouncements and seeming to judge your naturally reserved nature, but then he'd surprise you with gestures that some might've called romantic, like the way he'd kissed your hand the night before and the way he'd looked at you as he'd cleaned you off.  
  
It was then that the idea of starting something with Draco crept its way into your head, snuck in without your permission and even though you tried not to give it credence, it had continued to rear its head.  
  
As dusk began to fall, Draco had put his shirt back on and prepared to leave.  You'd walked him to the door, and something in the air shifted between you.  He'd turned to look at you, and said that he'd call – had said it twice, actually – but something about the look on his face had made you think that the man who seemed so cocksure about everything had something suddenly weighing on him that hadn't been there before.  He'd chastely kissed your mouth, and you'd shut the door behind him.  
  
Moments later, you'd heard a knock on the door and opened it to find Draco standing there, hands in his pockets and looking nervous.  
  
 _'There's something I didn't tell you.'_  
  
 _'Have you got a boyfriend?'_  you'd joked, but dreading the answer might've been yes.  
  
 _'No, I haven't got a boyfriend.  I don't do boyfriends.  I'm going away tomorrow.'_  
  
You'd been certain at the time that this was Draco's out – he'd had his fill of you and this was his way of cutting loose.  He didn't do boyfriends, and he was going away.  It couldn't have been much clearer than that, could it?  But Draco had continued to stand there, expecting a response and while your instinct was to just shut the door and wish you hadn't met this gorgeous, brazen, frustrating, charming man who'd kept sending you mixed signals, you'd humoured him and asked what was expected.  
  
 _'Where are you going?'_  
  
 _'Portland.  It's in Oregon.'_  
  
 _'How long are you going for?'_  
  
 _'Two years, I think.  Maybe more.'_  
  
You hadn't been expecting that, and a surge of disappointment had washed over you.  It had appeared that you really weren't ever going to see him again, and he'd been doing you the courtesy of telling you why.  You'd supposed it was a better reason than saying you were far too dull and boring for him and his friends and to kindly fuck off already.  No, Draco was leaving, and he was going to be gone for a long, long time.  It was the end of something that had never really started.  
  
 _'Oh.  I thought you meant maybe for a holiday or something.'_  
  
 _'It's for an art course.  Contemporary perspectives of modern art in the twenty-first century, or something like that.'_  
  
 _'That . . . that's great. You're doing an art course, that's really great.'_  
  
 _'I should have said something.'_  
  
 _'No, it's- it's fine.  That's really . . . honestly, you didn't have to tell me.'_  
  
 _'Well, I've told you now so I'm going to go,'_  and with a quick kiss on your cheek, he'd turned.  
  
But as you'd started to shut the door again, Draco pushed it open, this time having stepped over the threshold and grabbing hold of your arms.  
  
 _'What are you doing tonight, because I'm having drinks with some friends and it would be great if you came along, but it's up to you and I don't want to put any pressure on you,  so I'll text you the details and if you come, great and if you don't, that's fine, too.  All right?  Okay.'_  
  
Before you could even respond, the door had been closed and Draco was gone.  You'd stood there by the door, half expecting him to knock yet again, but it never did.  
  
And so you'd waited.

  
 **> o<**

  
Night had fallen and sure enough, Draco had texted you the place and time and reiterated that you were under no obligation to come.  You'd debated for half an hour on whether or not to go, but then Ron had called you and asked if you wanted to come round to watch some telly, and you'd suddenly heard yourself telling him that you'd made plans already.  When pressed, you'd told Ron briefly about meeting Draco for drinks.  
  
 _'That's great, mate, where'd you meet him?'_  
  
 _'Um, it was last night.  It was at that club not far from you.'_  
  
 _'Oh, that gay club you mean?  I thought you had to get to bed early for work today?'_  
  
 _'Yeah, I . . . sorry, I just wanted another drink and popped in.'_  
  
 _'No, it's fine.  You should bring him round tomorrow for Rosie's party.'_  
  
 _'He's going away actually, so . . .'_  
  
 _'Oh, well bring him round another time, then.'_  
  
You hadn't clarified the situation.  Ron and Hermione had always been supportive of your relationships, and you knew Ron's invite was his way of saying that whomever you chose would be welcomed into the fold.  Maybe you just hadn't wanted Ron to feel sorry for you that yet another almost-kinda-sorta relationship was over before it'd even started, as that had been the way of things of late.    
  
You'd taken a bath, spent far too long picking out clothes, and had finally made your way to the tube station, catching the Northern line to make your way meet Draco and his friends at a bar in  Camden (a straight bar, which had surprised you,  though in retrospect it really shouldn't have).   It'd been all a bit too retro for your tastes and you'd wondered if Draco or one of his friends had chosen it.    
  
You'd approached the bar inside, looking for Draco and eventually spotted him across the way, looking like a man holding court.  He'd seen you, smiled, and you'd nodded before turning back to the bar and ordering two beers.  
  
While you'd waited, Draco had come up behind you, getting very close as he'd said hello.  You'd noticed that afternoon that Draco didn't seem to care about personal space.  When you'd been waiting for the kettle to boil after you'd both arrived at his flat earlier that day, he'd stayed right next to you, shoulders touching, nearly the entire time.  You hadn't necessarily minded; it was just another thing about Draco that you hadn't experienced with anyone else.  
  
You'd waited for your drinks, and Draco'd said  _'You look like you want to kiss me.'_  
  
 _'I do.'_  
  
 _'Well go on, then.'_  
  
 _'No, not here.  I can't.'_  
  
Draco had merely stared back at you, looking equal parts disappointed yet unsurprised as he pushed your drink into your hands.  You'd never been comfortable with public displays of affection, and you certainly weren't going to break that by snogging Draco in a straight bar in the middle of Camden Town.    
  
He'd introduced you to his friends – two rather large men called Vincent and Greg, a tall one named Blaise, and a woman named Pansy, whom he knew to be Draco's flatmate.  You'd immediately felt plain and unremarkable next to Blaise, his dark sculpted features making him look like he'd walked off the pages of a magazine.  You'd wondered more than once that night if Draco and Blaise had ever hooked up, and may have entertained a few stray thoughts of what they'd look like together, feeling both jealousy and arousal at the mere thought of it.  
  
And the jealousy had been a surprising and bitter pill to swallow, because you'd known the man not even twenty-four hours and knew that he was leaving for America the following day.  
  
But being with Draco had been like being caught in the undertow, and even though you knew in your head what should do to escape its pull, the rest of your body seemed content to be dragged under.  
  
Pansy had pulled you aside while Draco was talking to two straight guys who had taken issue with Draco's re-telling of a particularly amusing yet explicit experience he'd had a few weeks prior with someone who'd been into BDSM, much to Draco's surprise.  You'd been trying to listen to what Pansy was saying, as she was talking about Draco, but you'd also been paying attention to Draco's statements to the other men, worried that he was treading dangerous ground.  
  
 _'The whole straight narrative, it's all there for you.  It's just there.  You have it all set up for you, in movies and books and TV shows and everything.  Boy meets girl, happily ever after.'_  
  
He hears Pansy say something about one of Draco's exes from long ago having cheated on him, and Harry was about to ask her about the whole 'I don't do boyfriends' thing when their voices from across the way got louder still.  You'd moved to intervene.  
  
 _'I was taking umbrage with the loud noise,'_  said the smaller man.  
  
 _'You weren't taking umbrage with the loud noise, we're in a fucking bar for Christ's sake, you were taking umbrage with the fact that a bunch of queers are in your straight bar and the sooner you admit it-'_  
  
 _'The sexuality of the loud noise wasn't what bothered me.'_  
  
 _'The sexuality of the loud noise?'_  
  
 _'It was just a loud noise, the volume-'_  
  
You'd felt a tug on your sleeve and Pansy'd pulled you back toward her table.  
  
 _'Don't, that's just Draco.  He'll be fine.  It's just phase one of his attack.'_  
  
 _'Is he always like this?'_  
  
 _'Confrontational?  Yes.'_  
  
 _You'd continued to watch from a close distance._  
  
 _"He hasn't let me listen to the tape, you know.  He always lets me listen, even the boring ones.'_  
  
 _'Sorry?'_  
  
 _'Your little interview.  I haven't heard it yet.'_  
  
 _'Well, I'm glad you haven't heard it, to be honest.'_  
  
 _'There's still time.'_  
  
Draco had finally rejoined the group, having had his fill of confrontation that you were glad to note didn't end in fists, and he'd leaned in close.  
  
'Do you want to get the fuck out of here?'  
  
You'd knocked back the rest of your shot and followed him out the door.

  
 **> o<**

  
Draco had teasingly tried to hold your hand as you'd walked down the street to the tube station.  You'd been starting to get used to his constant pushing of your boundaries, but weren't about to give in.  
  
 _'Won't your friends be upset that we left without saying goodbye?'_  
  
 _'I don't do goodbyes.'_  
  
 _'You don't do boyfriends, and you don't do goodbyes.  Anything else you don't do that I should know about?'_  
  
Draco had only grinned.  On the ride back to your place, Draco had asked you what you'd thought of his friends.  Your mind immediately remembered Pansy having told you, in confidence, that she and the rest of Draco's friends had a bet going on how long Draco would actually last in America.  She'd told you that apparently Draco often had big ideas; liked being a big fish in a little pond, and this was his way of being the biggest fish among their little grouping of friends.  You'd thought it was rather shitty for them to be so unsupportive, but said nothing of this to Draco, remarking only that they'd been nice to you.  
  
Stepping out of the tube station, you and Draco had stopped at the nearby all-night Tesco's to grab crisps and alcohol before walking the short distance to your flat.  And also, you'd been sure to mention, to replace the two chocolate bars that Draco had eaten in your flat earlier that day.  On a whim, you'd also bought a bag of candy floss after watching Draco eyeball it from afar.  He'd brought up the subject of his friends again out on the street.  
  
 _'Sometimes my friends are like a noose around my neck, you know?'_  
  
 _'What do you mean?'_  
  
 _'When you've had the same friends for too long, everything becomes cemented and stale.  They won't let you be any other version of yourself but what you were when you first met.  If you're trying to crawl out of the shit, they're more than happy to drag you back in because suddenly you don't conform to what they think you are.'_  
  
 _'Is that what you're trying to do?  Drag yourself out of the shit?'_  
  
 _'I'm trying to, I don't know, re-draw myself.'_  
  
 _'Of course, you being the artist that you are.'_  
  
 _'Exactly, but everyone keeps hiding my fucking pencils.'_  
  
You'd laughed, and thought that Draco likely had his friends pegged pretty good already, and the things that Pansy had said to him likely wouldn’t have been a shock to Draco.  
  
Back in your flat, you'd opened two beers and got comfortable on the couch and told your respective stories about growing up gay.  You could have listened to Draco talk for hours.  He'd just had this way about him, his manner of speaking and the gestures he'd made . . . and his beautiful mouth.  You'd relished the freedom to just stare as he talked.  
  
 _'Of course these were pre-internet days, when there wasn't any straight-boy-goes-gay-for-pay or stick-a-monster-cock-up-your-arse dot com websites out there,'_  he'd said matter of fact, and you couldn't help but laugh at the way in which he'd said such ridiculous things with a straight face.  
  
 _'But my mum had this VHS of A Room with a View, have you seen it?  Anyway, there's this scene where you can see Rupert Graves' cock, and I've got it paused and frozen on this scene, and there I am in my room, just going at it, and just as I shot out this huge spider web of juvenile semen, in walks my best mate.'_  
  
 _'What did he say?'_  
  
 _'He looked at me, and he looks at the screen and there's Rupert Graves' bouncing cock from where I'd paused the videotape, and he just knew.'_  
  
 _'And?'_  
  
 _'And he called me a faggot, called me a queer, but the weird thing was, I didn't give a shit.  In that moment, I could see myself through his eyes, and I just didn't care.'_  
  
 _'Are you still friends with him?'_  
  
 _'No, and I wasn't friends with anybody else after he'd gone and told everyone at school the next day.'_  
  
 _'Draco, that's . . . that's really horrible.'_  
  
 _'It is what it is.'_

  
 **> o<**

  
You'd told Draco later on, as you sat with his feet in your lap, about how you liked collecting the coming out stories of the men you'd slept with, and shared a few with him.  When Draco had wanted to talk about your firsts – first kiss, first blowjob, first fuck – you'd hesitated on that last only because you hadn't wanted it to colour what'd happened the night before.  Didn't want him feeling sorry for you.  Draco had already got you to admit that you weren't keen on being fucked, but hadn't told him why, and perhaps it was the abundance of beer in your belly that made you decide otherwise, but you'd ended up telling him anyway.  
  
 _'I'd met this guy the summer I'd turned seventeen.  I'd only been out to my friends for a couple months at that point.  I can't even remember his name, but in my head I always call him Paul Smith because that was the cologne he wore.  But he had this really nice flat near a cemetery, and I think he worked in design or something.  Anyway, he'd asked if he could fuck me and I told him yes but that he'd needed to be careful, I'd not done that before, you know?  He'd told me not to worry about it, and . . . it's weird because I remember vividly being really worried about the condom coming off.  I remember that even moreso than the fear of any pain from doing it for the first time.  That fear of getting AIDS and everybody thinking that I was scum.  He'd just kept telling me it was fine, but it wasn't fine.  I was so stupid about sex then, I didn't know hardly anything because it's not like they teach that shit in school, do they?  It's not like, 'hey kids safety first, fingers first,' is it?  Logically you know that you can't just go and shove it in, but that's essentially what he'd done, and when I told him it hurt he just kept telling me to wait, that he was almost done and it would get better.  Just kept saying 'it's fine, it's fine,' every time he pushed into me and it just really fucking hurt.'_  
  
 _'Harry-'_  
  
 _'And afterward he'd told me that he had a boyfriend and I'd better go because he didn't want to get caught with me, and I went home and just felt like shit.'_  
  
Draco had leaned into you then, and you wished you hadn't been so exposed.  You'd never told anyone that story before, and there you were telling a man that you'd never see again after tomorrow.  
  
 _'I don’t want you to fucking feel sorry for me, so stop looking at me like that.'_  
  
He'd said nothing, only picked up your hand and kissed it the way he had last night in the hallway.  Only there'd been no heated arousal behind it, unlike the night before . . . only kindness and understanding.

  
 **> o<**

  
You'd started to get tired, your eyelids heavy, as it neared midnight.  The lack of sufficient sleep the night before had started to catch up with you, not that you were regretting it.  You'd half expected Draco to have been gone by that time, eager to get home and finished whatever last minute packing yet to be done.  You'd talked about everything and anything.  After your Paul Smith story, somehow you'd gotten on the topic of public displays of affection and gay marriage and Draco's belief that it's just a way for the gay community to become part of a system that by default they should abhor.  
  
 _'Look, when is the last time you got political in front of your friends about being gay or suddenly got all camp and started talking about rimming or whatever?'_  
  
 _'Maybe some people just aren't like that.  I'm not like that.  I'm not going to shove it in their faces, am I?'_  
  
 _'They shove it in our face all the time!  In the storylines on television shows and on billboards and in magazines – everywhere!  But oh no, not the gays, we mustn't upset the straights, shhh, the straights are coming, let's all run and hide in our little ghettos, let's not hold hands or kiss in the streets.  We have a chance to make up our own shit, Harry, to grow our own garden and put whatever the fuck we'd like in it, pansies and gay gnomes and whatever the fuck else we'd like and not give a damn about their rules and stupid institutions!_  
  
 _'Just because you don't do boyfriends doesn't mean that it isn't important to some of us to be able to stand up and say in front of God and country that you're committed to this one person and will be for the rest of your life-'_  
  
 _'I'm not saying people shouldn't forge relationships, I'm saying that we don't need some heteronormative institution to sanction it and make it legitimate and respectable.  People get married to tie themselves down so they can be lazy twats and do nothing the rest of their lives because now they're settled.'_  
  
 _'Standing up and saying, I love you and I want to get married and spend the rest of my life with you when other people are saying that it's wrong or we're going to hell for loving each other, and instead saying fuck you and fuck that and fuck anyone else that doesn't like it, I love this person, I happen to think that's pretty fucking radical.'_  
  
 _'But why do we have to feed into the system?'_  
  
 _'You sound like a goddamn teenager, Draco.  Maybe people just get married because they love each other.  Isn't that enough?  Why does it even bother you when you don't even want a boyfriend?  Maybe some people just want to be happy.'_  
  
Draco had looked at you then, and you knew he had you bang to rights, because even as you'd been saying all of that, what you really wanted was for him to not go to America and instead stay here have a go at maybe being your boyfriend.  
  
 _'Are you happy with the way things are?'_  
  
 _'I'm fine.  I mean, yeah, things could be better, easier, but I'm fine.'_  
  
 _'Are you sure?'_  
  
 _'Don't you dare judge me, don't you fucking dare presume that you understand me.   You think that just I can't walk around holding hands or talk to my mates about sucking cocks that you know me.'_  
  
 _'I'm not-'_  
  
 _'I can fucking see it in your eyes, Draco, I have done since this morning when you got me to record that fucking tape and I didn't say the things you wanted me to say.  You think I'm a fucking idiot because I want a relationship, but the thing is, Draco, I think that you want one, too.'_  
  
 _'I think you would make an amazing boyfriend, but I don't want one.'_  
  
 _'I don't believe you.'_  
  
 _'Now who's making presumptions about understanding people they just met?  Look, maybe it's easier if I tell you I'm broken-hearted, but I'm not.  I don't want – I can't have – a boyfriend right now.  And that's all there is to say about it.  I don't want us to fall out about this, Harry, I really don't.'_  
  
You'd wanted to blame the booze for things having degenerated so quickly.  Too much booze and not enough sleep, but the brutal truth of it was that Draco had somehow, in the past twenty-four hours, become someone that you were reluctant to let walk away, and even though you'd meant everything you'd said, everything had come out wrong.  Defensive and angry and a little bit unfair.  You hadn't even noticed his hands around your forearms, but you'd shrugged them off and made an excuse of needing to use the toilet just to get away and be able to breathe . . . to gather your wits and remember the reality of the situation and not just what you wanted reality to be.  
  
You'd shut the bathroom door behind you, turned on the tap and splashed cold water on your face.  Feeling like the world's biggest idiot – for multiple reasons, really – you'd sat there on the edge of the bathtub, wondering if Draco hadn't just given up and left.    
  
But then you'd heard music playing from the other room where you'd left Draco, slow and melancholy, and as you opened the bathroom door to see what was going on, your anger had started to quickly melt away.  In your front room was a man you genuinely liked, who was interesting and made you question everything you'd grown comfortable with, and in that moment you'd felt a right tit for having nearly ruined everything in the final hours you'd had left with him simply because you hadn't wanted him to leave.  
  
You'd walked into the room and saw Draco standing in front of your open window, and went over to him, looking out at the clear night sky.  
  
 _'I'm sorry,_ ' you'd said.  
  
 _'I blame the drink.  When in doubt, blame alcohol,_ ' he'd answered, and then he'd reached for you, took your hand in his, and pulled you into a tight embrace.    
  
It had been another one of those unexpectedly romantic gestures that you hadn't quite known what to do with, and so you'd just hung on without saying a word, trying to remember everything about the man that would soon be thousands of miles away.  The way he'd smelled, the way your bodies had fit together when standing cheek to cheek.  And when Draco had finally pulled back and kissed your lips, a sweetly unspoken apology passing between you, you'd tried hard to concentrate on the taste of feel of him.  
  
When you'd made it to the bedroom, clothes already shed along the way, something else unspoken had passed between you as you laid back on the bed, drawing Draco into the cradle of your arms and legs and silently giving permission for him to do the very thing you'd denied him the night before.  
  
And it  _had_  been different.  Something had shifted between you . . . it wasn't just the act itself.  Draco had been different.  You'd been different.  You'd been terrified, not of any potential physical pain because you'd known before you even offered that Draco wouldn't hurt you in that way.  But rather, you'd been terrified of what would happen after.  When the sheets had long grown cold and Draco's scent was gone from your pillow the way that he had gone from your life.  
  
You hadn't been able to make sense of it, God knows you'd tried, but the simple fact of the matter was that two people had met, and a connection had sparked.  A force of nature that you hadn't any power to stop, and likely wouldn't have stopped even if you could and had known the outcome in advance.   A hurricane, as destructive and horrifying as they could be, was still a majestic force to witness, and this time you hadn't been watching from afar . . . you'd been standing there in the middle of the eye and welcoming the winds even though you knew they'd knock you down.  
  
Draco had gently, expertly, worked you open that night in every way possible, and then he'd kissed you so tenderly as he'd slid inside, had given you a new and glorious kind of pleasure that you knew you'd be reluctant to experience with anyone else thereafter.  
  
You'd fallen asleep, Draco wrapped around you like he'd always been there, and you'd tried hard not to dread the coming storm.

  
 **> o<**

  
Sunday morning had arrived and you'd awoken with the sun as it flooded your bedroom with harsh, unforgiving light.  It had been so quiet that morning, not even a twitter from the birds that normally visited your shared back garden.  It wasn't until you'd heard the sound of ceramic mugs clinking against the tabletop from the kitchen that you'd realised Draco hadn't been in bed with you.  You'd crawled over the side of the bed you'd normally slept on and placed bare feet on the hardwood floor.  You'd stood up, pulled your pants and t-shirt on, and headed toward the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes.  
  
Draco had been standing in front of the table, pouring hot water into two mugs.  
  
 _'Lots of sugar, I remembered,_ ' he'd smiled at you.  
  
 _'Thanks_.'  
  
You'd made toast for two, and had been selfishly glad to notice that you weren't the only one that had a certain pallor of sadness about them.  
  
 _'So what are you doing today?_ '  
  
 _'It's my goddaughter's birthday, so I've got to go to Ron and Hermione's house for the party.'_  
  
You'd finished your toast, and taken the plates to the sink and started the washing up.  
  
 _'What time's your train today?'_  
  
When Draco hadn't answered, you'd turned to look at him and found him eyeing you apprehensively.  
  
 _'Why?'_  
  
 _'No reason.'_  It hadn't been a lie, not at the time.  
  
'You aren't going to come and beg me to stay if I tell you?'  
  
 _'No, I don’t think so,_ ' you'd replied, and you'd wanted to grin and be light-hearted about it, but hadn't found the energy to even do that.    
  
You'd been absofuckinglutely sad, and you hadn't felt like hiding it.  
  
 _'Half past four.'_  
  
You'd followed Draco back into your room and had sat down on the bed while he'd got dressed.  You'd not spoken the words that had been stacking up on your tongue until he was nearly through, fastening the buckle on his belt.  
  
 _'I wish I could be brave like you.'_  
  
 _'How so?'_  
  
 _'All that stuff you said last night.  I do wish that I could walk down the street holding hands and not be afraid.  I'd like to be able to kiss you at the train station, right there on the platform, and not care what anyone else said or thought.'_  
  
 _'Well you can't because I forbid you from coming to the station and I'll chuck you onto the rails if you even dare.'_  
  
You'd laughed, a needed relief from the tension that had been building.    
  
 _'You hadn't been entirely wrong about everything, either,'_  he'd added, and for the first time, you'd heard real sadness in his voice, too.  
  
 _'Draco, I-'_  
  
 _'Don't, Harry, please_ ,' was all he'd said as he'd leaned over to kiss your brow.    
  
It was as if he'd known the ridiculous thoughts that had been running through your mind . . . phone calls and possible trips to America.    
  
Why had fate pushed you together now?  Why now?  Because it was a fucking bitch, clearly.  
  
Draco'd run his fingers through your hair, told you that he'd see himself out, and then he'd kissed you softly on the lips, lingering for just the briefest of moments, before he'd walked into the hallway.  Seconds later you'd heard your front door shut behind him, and that was that.  
  
Draco was gone.

  
 **> o<**

That afternoon, after you'd bathed and dressed and wrapped Rosie's birthday present, you'd tinkered around your flat trying to keep your mind occupied on anything but Draco.  
  
You'd failed.  Miserably.  
  
By the time you'd knocked on Ron and Hermione's door at three o'clock, you'd been a bundle of nerves and nervous energy, obsessed with checking the time even though you'd known you would let four-thirty pass without doing a damn thing about it.  
  
The party had been hell.  You'd felt wretched at having been such a useless lump of a godfather on Rosie's birthday, too fucking obsessed with your own love life than the happy event at hand.  After nearly an hour, you'd stepped outside by yourself just for a moment to get away from the noise of the party and tried to pull yourself together.  Ron had followed you, though, knowing that something was wrong.  
  
 _'You going to tell me what's going on, or what?'_  
  
 _'I'm fine, it's nothing.'_  
  
 _'Come on, man, we're best mates.  Is it about this Draco bloke?'_  
  
 _'It's feels weird, all right?  Talking to you about this stuff.'_  
  
 _'Why?'_  
  
 _'I don't know, we just . . . don't talk about this stuff.'_  
  
 _'I know, and that's the weird bit, yeah?  Why don't you?'_  
  
 _'I just-'_  
  
 _'Don't think I won't bring Hermione out here and announce to her that you need some help with your love life, because you know how she is, mate.  Don't make me do that.'_  
  
 _'It just, it doesn't make sense, right?  I don't know why I feel this way.  I've known him for two days.  I mean, what is that?  Two days?  That's nothing.'_  
  
 _So talk to him when he gets back.  You'll see him then, won't you?_  
  
 _No, I won't.  He's not coming back.  He's moving to America, so . . . that's that, isn't it?_  
  
 _'Fuck, didn't know that.  Has he already gone?  What time is he leaving?'_  
  
 _'I can't, I promised.  He doesn't want me there.'_  
  
 _'Fuck that, come on!  What time is he leaving?  I'll run you over in the car.  Tell him how you feel.'_  
  
 _'First of all, Hermione would kill us both but she'd kill you first.'_  
  
 _'Bollocks to that, Hermione eats this romantic shit up all the time, even though she'll never admit it.  Now get your arse in the car.'_

  
 **> o<**

  
You'd arrived at the train station with fifteen minutes to spare.  
  
It had only taken a few moments to spot Draco, thanks to his distinctive blond hair, over by the departures and arrivals boards.  Suddenly fearful of how he would react to seeing you, you'd held back and very nearly turned around, but then he'd seen you and it was too late.  You'd been caught out.  
  
Sheepishly, you'd walked up to him, and he'd just shook his head, but he hadn't looked angry.  That was something.  
  
 _'I fucking knew you'd come.'_  
  
You'd shrugged, offering no excuse.  
  
 _'Such a goddamn romantic,' he'd laughed, and you'd smiled then, relieved that he hadn't been angry._  
  
 _'Are you going to chuck me onto the tracks, then?'_  
  
 _'We're not on the platform yet.  Come on, then.  The least you can do is carry one of my bags.'_  
  
You'd walked with him, his bag slung over your shoulder, as you'd made your way to where he'd meet the train.  
  
 _'Is this our Notting Hill moment?  Will there be a declaration of love where everybody applauds?'_  
  
 _'Do you reckon that's what would happen with us?'_  
  
 _'Could give it a go.  They'd either clap or throw us under a train.'_  
  
Your heart had felt heavier and heavier the closer to the platform you'd got, until finally there you'd both stood.  It was surprisingly empty for an early Sunday evening, and aside from two young teenage boys off in the distance, you were alone.  Draco'd been deliberately avoiding your eyes, and the ease you'd felt with him just moments ago had been replaced with something more akin to dread.  
  
You'd suddenly felt guilty for forcing this confrontation on Draco.  He'd had good reason to avoid goodbyes, it'd seemed.  
  
You'd set his bag down on the ground next to you and turned, waiting for him to face you.  
  
 _'I just wanted- I just wanted you to know that I . . .'_  
  
 _'Shut up, Harry, just shut up,'_  he'd finally said, turning toward you and you'd seen such sadness in his eyes then that you'd wanted to kiss him and make everything better.  
  
And against your better judgment, you'd done exactly that.  You'd kissed him right there on the platform, and hadn't even cared when the two teenage boys further down the platform called out  _'Queers'_  and  _'Faggot boys._ '  It had only made you pull Draco closer, kiss him harder.  
  
'You're a bastard for coming down here, fuck me,' Draco had said when your lips had parted, and the catch in his voice made your heart break.  
  
 _'You'll be great.  You're going to have an amazing time, you'll see.'_  
  
Draco had pulled back from the embrace and bent down to open the smaller bag, and you hadn't said anything when he'd wiped roughly at his eyes.  He'd pulled out a padded envelope, and stood, handing it over to you.  
  
 _'I couldn't remember your surname.  I was going to post it when I got to America.'_  
  
Above your address had been written 'Harry the football coach' and you'd laughed at the ridiculousness of it.  At  _all_  of it.  
  
You were a goddamn romantic, and you'd infected Draco with it as well.  
  
The rumble of the train had approached, and Draco had pulled you in for another kiss, far less gentle than the one you'd given him, and he hadn't let go until the train had stopped in front of you, and then he'd just let go and before you could even reach for his hand, to kiss it as he'd done for you that first night you'd spent together, he'd been stepping onto the train and disappeared from view.  
  
You'd stayed on the platform until the train was gone, no longer in your line of sight, and even then you'd stayed a bit longer still.  
  
Later that evening, you'd finally opened up the envelope that Draco had given you at the station, and you'd been shocked to find his voice recorder inside.  There'd been a note taped to the front of it.  You'd pressed play on the recorder, and heard your own voice speaking to you.  There'd been no need to pay attention because you'd remembered everything that you'd said that first morning with Draco.  
  
You'd turned your attentions instead to the note, and smiled sadly after you'd opened it and read it.  
  
 _You hadn't been my second choice._  


  
 **July, Present Day**

  
You can hear Hunniford's teammates groan as she overshoots the goal like you'd predicted, and while you'd normally glare them into submission to play nicely and be supportive, your eyes are still fixed firmly on Draco.  There is still another ten minutes until half-time, and he's watching you, but not making any move toward you.  Perhaps he doesn't want to distract you, but if that's his goal, then like Hunniford, he's failed miserably.  
  
Ten minutes seem to last ten hours, and as the girls run over to the team benches for their bottled water and a well-deserved rest, you ask them to give you a moment while you take care of something.  
  
You walk toward him, and he finally moves from where's he's been rooted to the ground to meet you halfway.  He looks . . . beautiful.  As wonderful as the day you'd first seen him.  Moreso, even, because you hadn't expected to ever see him again and the sheer delight and surprise you feel as he gets closer to you is almost overwhelming.  
  
That's not to say that you aren't nervous as hell, because you  _are_.  You've no idea why he's here.  Or how long he's here for.  
  
'Hello,' Draco says, the first to speak when he's within arm's length.    
  
You want to touch him, your fingers are practically fucking twitching with the need to reach out, but you restrain yourself.  
  
'You're the last person I expected to see here,' you say, and you know your smile must be taking up half your face but you don't care.  'Or anywhere, really.  Are you back for a visit?'  
  
'Actually," he starts, suddenly looking a bit nervous, and  _God_  how you want to kiss him, 'I moved back last weekend.  University of London actually has a decent art program, and while Portland rain is nice, it just isn't a match for good old London rain.'   
  
You feel your heart beat faster as Draco continues to tell you about his move back to London, but happy as you are, you still aren't sure why he has come here today.  Or, for that matter, how he'd even known where to find you.  
  
'I ran into your friend, the ginger one?  He told me where you were.'  
  
'Oh, you mean Ron.  Yeah, he and his brothers said they'd be stopping by my place today to bring over some of their old kitchen stuff for me.'  
  
You've no doubt in your mind that you've got about ten text and voice messages from Ron and Hermione both if Ron cottoned on to who the mystery blond was.  
  
'So, I was thinking,' Draco starts to say, and then stops, but he takes half a step closer to you.  
  
'Thinking about what?'  
  
'Listen, I still don't do boyfriends, but . . .'  
  
You heart plummets from where it had lodged in your throat at the sight of him, down to your stomach as you realise why he must be here.  You aren't going to help him out, either.  If he's come here to give you the 'Let's be friends' speech, then he could fucking well get on with it without your assistance.  
  
'. . . but I thought that perhaps you might want to try the whole not having a boyfriend thing with me.  Exclusively.  Together.'  
  
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing he'd just said is any making sense.  
  
'Sorry?'  
  
'I don't want to be tied down, right, and I'm not fucking settling into some house with you and buying a dog and all that rubbish, but I thought that perhaps, if you were still unattached, you might want to not settle with me.'  
  
And suddenly it hits you.    
  
'You want to  _not_  be my boyfriend, and for me to  _not_  be  _your_  boyfriend, while absolutely not being anyone else's boyfriend, either?'  
  
'Well . . . yes.'  
  
'Draco, that makes absolutely no fucking sense.  I've literally no idea what any of that means, and I'm the one who's said it.'  
  
You stand there staring at each other, and Draco bites his lip and waits for some sort of answer to a question you're not even sure them meaning of yet.  
  
Well, you're pretty sure you know what he's  _trying_  to say, and while your answer is the same now as it would have been that day at the train station, you're still a tad bitter about the whole  _leaving_  bit and kind of want to make Draco work for it.  
  
Because you've changed while he's been away, but he doesn't know it yet.  
  
So, on impulse, because that's often how you decide to act these days, you close the distance between you, and in full view of players and parents and families, you kiss Draco right there on the field near the center line.  It takes a few moments for anyone else to notice, but a few catcalls from your team alert the rest of those gathered to the very gay kiss that's happening right in front of them, and no one cares except those doing the actual kissing.  
  
And it's glorious.  
  
'I'll be your  _not boyfriend_ , but I'd better never catch you being  _not boyfriends_  with anyone else,' you say, still a bit breathless from the kiss.  
  
'I don't cheat, and I never go for second best,' Draco answers with a smirk.  
  
'Good.'  
  
From that moment on, even six years later when you're settled in a house, and do in fact own a dog, and people you've just met ask you if Draco's your boyfriend, you'll simply smile and say no, and laugh and their confused expressions.  
  
Because as Draco will tell adamantly you, he doesn't do boyfriends.

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